I/O A YEAR WITH NATURE. 



Great Britain still possesses more species of wild fowl than 

 any other Country, notwithstanding the fact that so much of our 

 land is cultivated. Amongst them all I do not think there is 

 one which is held in higher estimation by me than the sooty 

 Moorhen. How often have I when fishing been amused and 

 interested by this bird, and how enjoyable it is to spend a few 

 hours in the neighbourhood which it frequents. When I 

 served my angling apprenticeship it was always impressed upon 

 me that the best means of getting a good basket full of fish 

 was to throw in your line and wait for events. There are 

 many anglers who have not the patience to do this, they rather 

 prefer rushing up and down in their excitement and enthusiasm, 

 frightening as they go every fish and bird that comes within 

 range and becoming a plague and a nuisance to the old hand 

 who is content to sit on his camp stool the whole day long, 

 with but two or three shifts. It is the old hand pardon the 

 vulgarism from whom one can glean much information as to 

 the birds to be met with in the situations which the angler 

 frequents. I pride myself that I too am becoming somewhat 

 of an old hand, and as such have had many opportunities of 

 watching those birds which unless one is prepared to study 

 very carefully and closely it is impossible to know much about. 



We are by the side of a lake fringed with various Rushes of 

 many hues. Nearly all the surface of the water is covered 

 with Yellow and White Water Lilies, and the rounded leaves, 

 lying flat on the water, make an excellent stand for a Robin, 

 which there takes up his station, or a Pied Wagtail or Reed 

 Bunting. We throw our line in between the lilies in the hope 

 of alighting upon a Perch hole; patience is a virture, and if 

 we catch no fish, cannot we worship the glorious surroundings? 

 It is a thundery day, and the Eels are "on the run," and the 

 Bream four or five pounders some of them are on top of 

 the water. 



If there is one delightful sight in such a spot it is to 

 watch the Swallows and Martins skimming the water, and 

 in and out of the old mill house. How we should miss 

 their cheery twitterings and their concerts in unison as they 

 perch, a dozen of them together, on the moss-grown tiles of 

 the miller's house 1 How their snowy breasts are set off against 



